<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Fragments of a Rewritten Future by ArtificialDaydreams</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471752">Fragments of a Rewritten Future</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialDaydreams/pseuds/ArtificialDaydreams'>ArtificialDaydreams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A different kind of time travel fic, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Because I'm writing it and I say so, Child Neglect, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidfic, LITERALLY, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Time Travel Fix-It, self-care</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:00:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialDaydreams/pseuds/ArtificialDaydreams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon's not sure that the house on Hill Top Road will actually let him travel to another universe, but he and Martin are out of options in a world that can no longer return to normal. The plan had been to travel to 2010 and prevent their past selves from ever working at the Institute, but Jon's forced to make a new one after getting separated and ending up farther in the past than he'd expected.</p><p>Jon's not sure who this scarred stranger is, but everything he'd been told by teachers or his grandmother is to stay away from people he doesn't know. It was kind of annoying actually, getting pestered constantly as though Jon were the perfect target for kidnappers. He might be six years old, but he wasn't stupid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerard Keay &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan “Jon” Sims &amp; Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Yes you read that correctly - Relationship, not the focus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>358</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I should never jokingly say "I know I've already done a time-travel fic but if I were to do it again here's what I'd do" in a writer's discord. Because I can and will realize that the crack idea I joked about could actually work. So much thanks to the Magnus Writers discord for helping me refine this concept into... whatever this is.</p><p>Trigger warnings for spiders, webs, and childhood neglect/unhappy childhoods</p><p>Much thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_spies/pseuds/Northern_spies">Northern_spies</a> for the beta!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been a gamble, going to the house on Hill Top Road, but they hadn’t seen any other option. Destroying Avatars hadn’t done anything to fix the ruined world, and even as they got closer to the Panopticon Jon doubted there was anything there that might help them. The Entities had been summoned, and they didn’t seem keen on being sent back to wherever they’d come from. Jon didn’t need to use the Beholding for that, now that the world had been changed it could never truly go back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon didn’t even know if the house would still be there, let alone if it would actually let them travel to a parallel world, but they went anyway. It was just as creepy as he remembered, although he had half expected it to be a Domain of the Web. The fact that the house had not been touched by the Change seemed evidence enough that it held more than it appeared to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like this.” Martin wrung his hands together, staring up at the house with a look of apprehension on his round face. Jon couldn’t blame him for being nervous. Martin hadn’t been here yet, and visiting a house as unsettling as Hill Top Road... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t either. What other choice do we have, though?” Jon sighed and pressed onwards, making his way towards the front door. It was covered in cobwebs so thick he could barely find the knob. “That’s... concerning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” Martin pressed the hilt of a knife into Jon’s hand, which he once would have found surprising behavior had they not gone through multiple Domains of the Web to get here. Even a spider-lover like Martin had started to get tired of seeing the things everywhere and walking through webs. Propping his cane up against the house, Jon unsheathed the knife and went to work clearing off the door until there was a hole large enough that the two of them could climb through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interior of Hill Top Road was even more run-down than it had been the last time Jon had visited it. What little furniture had been there had been ripped to pieces and every surface was covered in cobwebs. Jon might not have seen any spiders but he knew that hundreds had to be watching him, he didn’t have to be an Avatar of the Beholding to guess that. He could hear the clicking of pincers and shuffling of huge legs from just beyond the torch’s range. Jon didn’t want to see just how large the spiders were in order to make such a racket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said the crack was in the basement?” Martin asked from behind him, glancing around the room as though checking to see if anything was about to leap out at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“According to Anya Villette’s statement, yes.” Clearing his throat Jon tried to remember just what she’d seen. “She claimed there was a door to the basement behind a cupboard door under the stairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t go in the basement when you were here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no... There wasn’t a basement. Just the ground floor and upstairs. We heard noises from the upper floor and went to investigate, it was a tape recorder with the first statement I ever recorded on it.” It sent a chill down Jon’s spine remembering just what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s... Creepy.” Martin muttered, moving the beam of his torch as though looking for stairs. It was hard, given how dark the room was and how thick the cobwebs were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next room.” Jon pointed his own torch to a doorway that was barely visible underneath the webs covering it. He strode over and started hacking at the webs as he’d done on the front door, peeling away layer after layer until his hands were so sticky he couldn’t drop the knife. This room was almost identical to the one they’d left, apart from a staircase set into the opposite wall. The bannister was so covered in cobwebs it looked as though it had been draped in silk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno about you, but after this I don’t want to see a cobweb for a long time.” With a sigh Martin started towards the stairs, his backpack swaying as he walked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.” Once again, Jon had to cut the webs off the door so they could go down the narrow stairway behind it. The wood creaked as they descended, as though it were likely to break under their feet. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to think about, especially when Jon had to lean heavily on his cane with each step he took.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike the rest of the house the basement of Hill Top Road looked clean, no dust or cobwebs anywhere. It seemed unnatural, but once Jon stepped onto the concrete he Knew the reason. “Ohhhh.” He stared at the crack in the floor, a starburst shape that radiated from the center of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Martin asked, looking nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anya Villette did come from a parallel universe, I can See... They’re connected to this crack. I think this place ties them together... This house exists in every universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So... What does that mean for us? Can we... Can we use the crack to travel to another universe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so... Normally the Web controls the- The gateway. But since the Eye rules over everything I should be able to use it.” It was a bit dizzying to stare at if Jon was being honest. The overlapping universes looked a bit like an optical illusion, if he tilted his head or squinted his eyes what he saw changed. A headache started to form in his temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to do anything special?” Martin stared at the crack, unable to see what Jon could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon shook his head as he tried to See which universes were connected here, which one would suit their needs. It was harder than he’d thought, they were woven so closely together and he was looking for one specific thread. The crack would pull them to a specific universe like iron to a magnet, there would be no changing course once a destination was selected. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their goal was simple in theory, to prevent their past selves from working at the Magnus Institute. For Jon it meant that Jonah would have to pick someone else to be his Archivist, and that there was the possibility that this other person wouldn’t be as foolish as he had been. Sure, there were plenty of people out there who had been Marked by an Entity, plenty of people who were so stubbornly set on getting answers that they neglected to see the trap they were walking into. Jon just had to hope that whoever was chosen in his stead would fail as Archivist. Or he could go to Gertrude and convince her to not stop sabotaging rituals, since that had been the thing to make Jonah realize what he needed. Nevertheless, he would never again work in that place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There! Now that he knew what he was looking for, Jon was able to see the correct universe, a glowing thread in a tapestry. “Found it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure you can pick the universe we go to?” Martin glanced down at Jon, biting his lip nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.” Jon held out his hand, which Martin grasped with his own. Reaching out with his mind, Jon tried to latch onto the glowing thread he’d seen. “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, but there’s no other choice, is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing on tiptoes, Jon kissed Martin, who flushed. They had no way of knowing whether this would work, whether they could actually travel to another universe, whether they could pick which universe they would end up in. Still, it wasn’t like they could stand around forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This timeline was doomed, nothing they tried had been able to turn the world back to the way it had been before the Change. Wherever they ended up would be a completely different world. Even if they met the same people it wouldn’t be the ones they’d known. Tim and Sasha, Daisy and Basira, Melanie and Georgie, they were all dead in this universe. That didn’t mean that they couldn’t be saved in another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On three?” Martin smiled, and Jon tried to memorize his face. If this failed, if something went wrong... No... Jon didn’t want to think about “what if’s.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On three.” Taking a deep breath they faced the crack in the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One.” Martin squeezed his hand reassuringly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two.” Jon glanced at Martin, only to see he was staring back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thr-” They started to say, but suddenly eight spider-like arms rose from the crack, grabbing them tightly. Jon had to suppress the urge to scream, to not think about how he’d seen something similar coming out of a doorway as a child. Was this Mr. Spider? He was powerless to do anything as the arms dragged them down into darkness.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The man had looked scary to Jon. The scars that littered his face and arms, the gray streaking his dark hair, the shadows and weariness on his face. He looked like a witch, the kind seen in picture books, who’d cast a spell on princesses. Upon spotting Jon, the man’s eyes had widened, as if in recognition, and Jon remembered how every adult he’d ever met had warned him about strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk to strangers, Jon.” His teachers at school liked to say, as though he needed the reminder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someone you don’t know tries to approach you, run away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stranger danger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of annoying actually, getting pestered constantly as though Jon were the perfect target for kidnappers. Now, staring at this scarred man, a man who was looking at him with terrifying interest, he was kind of grateful for the nagging. He wanted to run, but the man’s eyes seemed to paralyze him. They were such a bright, vivid green, the color of leaves in spring, and they seemed to see right through Jon from behind his rectangular glasses. The man approached him, walking slowly and leaning heavily on a wooden cane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello there,” the man said, smiling at Jon. His voice was deep and formal-sounding, the type Jon expected to hear on the news shows his grandmother watched. “I’ve just moved here and I was wondering-” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’m looking for a good chippie to go to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing up at the signposts, Jon tried to remember where he was, what places to eat were nearby. Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. Instead of answering he turned on his heel and walked away, mentally patting himself on the back for doing the right thing. He didn’t bother telling his grandmother about the stranger when he returned home. It didn’t seem important.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jon watched his past self retreat and wondered if he’d imagined what had just happened. Maybe the Spiral was playing tricks on him. Still, he’d seen enough pictures of himself as a child... Dark hair that stuck up all over the place, big eyes, trainers with a hole in the toe. That had definitely been his past self. Maybe his luck was finally changing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Jon had noticed when he’d woken up in this universe was the sky. The sun was setting, staining the sky red, yellow, and orange. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in such a long time. Then a breeze ruffled his hair and Jon realized that he was outside. Glancing around he saw he now lay in the ruins of a house, the chimney and some other stonework were the only things left standing. Well, the stonework and the tree. It loomed over him in a manner that seemed almost menacing, the branches seeming to reach towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The neighboring houses looked normal enough, but that tree... This had to be Hill Top Road, but why was he in a ruin? He’d meant to go back to 2010, and the house was rebuilt sometime around 2006... What year had he landed in?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Beholding was all too willing to answer that question for him, the information appearing in his head suddenly, like he’d always known. 1993. Jon wanted to ask Martin if he had any idea what they should do, but looking around he saw that Martin wasn’t there. There was no sign of him anywhere, which terrified Jon. What had happened? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking back to those terrifying moments before he’d blacked out he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Hadn’t they been holding hands? With a sigh he realized they hadn’t. Their hands had broken apart when the spider’s legs grabbed them, and Jon didn’t know what that meant. Had Martin ended up in a different universe or was he just taking longer to get here? Jon waited until morning, but there was no sign of Martin. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer, not without attracting unwanted attention. He could only hope that Martin would join him eventually. Hope was all it was though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He had overshot and ended up in 1993, Martin was not with him, and to top it all off the house was ruined and there was no basement. Although he could feel the connection this place had to other worlds, there was no way he could access them. He was stuck in this universe whether he wanted to be or not. Even if the house was rebuilt Jon wasn’t sure if he could use it to access other universes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overshooting his original destination by seventeen years meant that Jon had a whole host of problems he didn’t expect. His passport was no longer valid, most of his money was worthless since it had been printed in the future, and his cell phone no longer worked. No phone, no money, no Martin, no idea what he was going to do now. It truly seemed as though no matter what universe he landed in he was destined to be unlucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were several things he needed to do, get new papers, find a place to live being the most important. Still, it was hard to do anything without money. He’d ended up pawning his watch for about fifty pounds, which wasn’t a lot but it’d have to do. It would have taken more time than he had to earn enough money for a flat in Bournemouth, but Jon took advantage of being able to Know things and bought a ticket for the National Lottery. In his old universe such a thing wouldn’t have been possible, the first draw hadn’t been until 1994, but apparently things were different here. He’d had to split the jackpot with several other people but he’d won enough to afford his flat, new paperwork, and invest in the stock market. It was probably cheating to use knowledge from the future to pick companies he knew would make him a profit, but honestly didn’t care. Other people would do the same if they were in his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d decided to take a walk around Bournemouth, it had been a long time since he’d last been here. Memories of his childhood weren’t exactly something Jon liked to dwell on, but it had been nice to see everything again. He hadn’t been expecting to run into his past self on his very first day though, he’d honestly expected it to take a while. Then again, this was probably before his grandmother had threatened to lock him in his room if the police brought him home again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s plan might still work, even having overshot his original destination. He could still prevent his past self from working at the Institute. Since he was already here though... It couldn’t help to nudge the kid into developing better habits, could it?</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The book was just out of Jon’s reach. Even standing on his tiptoes he was unable to reach it, which he found annoying. Why would someone put a children’s book on a shelf where children couldn’t get to it? With a sigh Jon took a step back and glanced around the small charity shop, looking for a stool or something he could use. Instead he saw the scarred man again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had only been a few days since Jon had last seen him, but still... He’d been hoping to never see the stranger again. His grandmother would scold him if she knew how he felt, she was very much about not judging books by their covers. It was clear that the man had been through a lot, but he still scared Jon. Just what had happened to him to give him so many scars? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger seemed to sense Jon’s gaze and glanced over at him, those bright green eyes sending a shiver down Jon’s spine. Even hidden behind glasses they were so vibrant, they seemed to stare into his soul. The man started to walk towards him, his cane thudding against the wood floor, and Jon wanted to run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They really don’t think about where they place books these days. Let me help you.” The stranger picked the book Jon had been trying to reach off the shelf and held it out to him, a small smile on his face. Reflexively Jon took it, staring at the battered cover so as to avoid looking at the man. Charmed Life by Diana Wynne Jones, he’d wanted to read it because of the castle on the cover. He managed to get out a muttered thanks, intending to go pay for the book, but he stopped when he glanced at the stranger. He had such a sad look on his scarred face, those bright eyes full of so much emotion it seemed to leak out of him. “You take care now.” The man muttered before heading towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bell clanged shut as he left, and Jon stood still for a minute before remembering what he’d been about to do. After paying for the book he went outside to see the man sitting on a nearby bench, one leg stretched out in front of him, cane resting across his lap. His hair had been pulled back in a messy bun, which made Jon realize he’d never really seen men with long hair before. His grandmother demanded he cut his hair if his bangs started to cover his eyes, but looking at the stranger he couldn’t help but think about how nice it looked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” The man asked, despite his eyes being closed. How had he known that Jon was there?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” Jon said without thinking. He wasn’t sure why he’d said anything at all, it was like the words had been forced out of him. This caused the man to blink several times, as though he hadn’t quite heard what Jon was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...” He started to say, but seemed to have trouble finding the words. “If I tell you my name, would that mean I’m not a stranger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon considered this. Adults always seemed to use the word “stranger” when talking about people that he didn’t know. If the man told Jon his name, Jon would then know who he was. “I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call me Mr. Blackwood.” The man, Mr. Blackwood, gave Jon another small smile, although it didn’t seem to reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with your leg?” Immediately after the words left his mouth Jon realized that he’d said something that his grandmother would consider rude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Blackwood blinked a few more times, then laughed. He looked younger when he laughed, the weariness on his face vanishing for a second. “You went from ‘can’t talk to strangers’ to ‘asking questions’ that fast, huh?” He smiled again, evidently not annoyed by Jon’s rudeness. “It’s an old injury, it acts up from time to time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure why I should answer that, after all you’re still a stranger to me.” Mr. Blackwood lifted an eyebrow, scratching his stubbly chin absentmindedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon!” He wasn’t sure why he was giving his name to a man he’d just met, but even though Mr. Blackwood looked scary, he seemed nice. “I’m Jonathan Sims!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This earned another smile. “Jonathan, huh?” Mr. Blackwood leaned forward slightly, so he was closer to Jon’s height. “My name’s Jonathan too.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It felt strange to call himself “Jonathan Blackwood.” It was technically his legal name in this universe, but he and Martin had never actually gotten married. He glanced at the battered silver ring on his left hand and resisted the urge to sigh. It had once been like-new, when Martin had given it to him in Daisy’s safehouse, but they’d never had the chance to even plan a wedding before the Change. If Martin were here now it might be different, but he had yet to arrive in this universe. Still, Jon didn’t think it was a good idea to have two “Jonathan Sims” running around, especially if he planned to keep interacting with his past self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy had plopped down next to Jon, kicking his feet as he examined the book he’d bought. “I think you’ll enjoy that” His past self glanced up at him, eyes wide. With a start Jon realized that his eyes were still a honey-brown, he was still decades away from when they might change color. It had been a gradual change, Jon hadn’t noticed until one day he looked in the mirror and saw his reflection staring back at him, his irises now a vibrant green. He’d make sure that his past self never went through that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like books, but it’s hard to find good ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I understand how you feel. It’s hard to find books that will capture my interest sometimes.” The boy smiled again, holding the book to his chest. “I could help you if you need help finding what to read next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before his younger self- Jon really needed to find a better thing to call him- could answer the church bells rang seven-o-clock. The boy leapt off the bench, a look of terror on his face. “I’m late for dinner! Grandmother will...” He didn’t need to finish the sentence, Jon knew what he was thinking. Their grandmother would be furious, unless he had a valid reason for being late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your grandmother is expecting you?” Jon tried to act as though he didn’t know what was going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she said if I was late again...” The boy gulped, eyes full of fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can talk to her, it’s my fault you lost track of time.” Jon  started mentally preparing himself to see his grandmother again. The last time had been at her funeral, around the time he’d started working at the Magnus Institute. To see her alive? It would definitely be strange, not to mention she probably wouldn’t be too happy to see him. She wouldn’t- no- couldn’t know who he was. He couldn’t possibly explain that he just happened to be her grandson from an alternate universe twenty-five years in the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-” His past self started to speak, but clearly thought better of it. Jon remembered what his grandmother was like all too well. While being late for dinner wasn’t the worst thing he’d done it would still earn the boy a thorough scolding, some extra chores, and an earlier bedtime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d also feel better knowing you got home safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your leg?” The boy looked apprehensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to walk eventually, might as well start now.” Jon got to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane to do so. His thigh still throbbed but there was nothing to do about it. New injuries healed fast, but anything he’d gotten before his coma were likely to never go away. Still, the pain wasn’t as bad as other days. “Which way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pointing a small hand in front of him, Jon’s past self started walking towards the flats on the other side of the town centre. Jon remembered where it was, a few blocks away from his own flat, but he dutifully followed the boy. His past self was humming as he walked, swinging his arms in wide arcs. It was strange to see this child who was both Jon and not Jon. The same person, and yet so very different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Jon,” The silence was getting awkward. “How old are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Six.” The answer was matter-of-fact. “I turn seven in a few months.” Right, it was August, October 13th was practically around the corner. Unfortunately Jon couldn’t see a way to continue that conversation, it wasn’t like he could talk about school, he couldn’t remember what year a six year-old would be going into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of books do you like? Just so I have an idea of what to look out for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His past self seemed to pause for a second, his face scrunching up in concentration. “I dunno.” He frowned. “Stuff that won’t bore me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was... Well it wasn’t exactly helpful but Jon couldn’t fault the boy. What he remembered from his childhood was that any author whose style he could recognize wasn’t worth reading. His grandmother had found that particularly infuriating, because it made finding books he’d actually read nearly impossible. It had been what led to her buying mass quantities of cheap books in the hope something would grab his attention, and incidentally A Guest For Mr. Spider had interested him. Or maybe that had been the Web’s fault. Nevertheless, it would not happen to his past self, not if he had anything to say about it. “I’ll keep an eye out.” An eye or the Eye, whichever worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they continued walking in silence, Jon had realized that he’d actually have to make an excuse to his grandmother for how he knew his past self. While the truth would work, it wouldn’t prevent her from trying to prevent him from meeting his past self again. If she told the boy to stay away from him there’d be nothing he could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could claim to be a relative, his past self was right there and they did look a great deal alike. Jon also resembled his father, so it was an easy enough lie to make. Still, there was no guarantee his grandmother would believe him. She was sharper than she looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building looked much the same as Jon remembered, it was above an old flower shop and the scent had sometimes come up through the floor in the springtime. He passed bouquets of roses and buckets of dahlias on display walking to the stairway. “It’s on the second floor.” His past self pointed up the stairs, his free hand fiddling with the cuff of his shorts. Nervous energy, no doubt. Neither of them knew what their grandmother would do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re late.” She was in the doorway when they reached the landing, arms folded across her skinny chest. Her gray hair had been pulled up into a bun but several strands had fallen out at the back of her neck. She glared at Jon, who felt a shiver run down his spine out instinctually. He leaned on his cane, maybe a bit more heavily than he needed to, but he didn’t think it could hurt. “Who are you? What do you want with my grandson?” Straight to the point, like always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...” It was hard for Jon to think of what to say with her looking daggers at him. “Your grandson was helping me, that’s why he’s late. I figured I should-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Helping with what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was struggling with my shopping, bought more than I could easily carry.” He leaned on the cane again, as if for emphasis. “He helped me bring everything to my flat, but it took longer than either of us thought it might.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” His past self chimed in, shaking his fists enthusiastically. “There were a lot of stairs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still haven’t said who you are, sir.” His grandmother’s glare had not lessened the slightest amount and Jon was starting to feel like he understood the expression “if looks could kill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blackwood, miss. Jonathan Blackwood. I just moved in the other day.” It was hard to keep his voice steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, ‘Mr. Blackwood’,” it was impossible to miss the way she said his name. His grandmother had always been a perceptive woman. “Have we met before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinked several times, hoping it looked as though he hadn’t understood what she’d said. Right. Jon was supposed to come up with an excuse for who he was. He wished he could remember the names of distant relatives, someone she wouldn’t have spoken to in a while. Fortunately the Beholding seemed willing to help him, supplying the information he needed, “Possibly? Jon said his last name was Sims... I know that I have a cousin with that surname. Sean, I think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise and relief his grandmother seemed satisfied with that answer. “Are you Angela’s kid then? I heard she had one, never knew his name though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you knew my mother?” If he was being perfectly honest Jon had no idea who Angela was, although he did Know it was the correct answer to give. Hopefully she wouldn’t press much farther, or he’d reveal he was lying through his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s the old crone doing?” Again, he Knew what to say to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were at her funeral. Two years ago, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nod from his grandmother, had it been a trick question? “Right. When you get to be my age they all start to blend together.” She laid a hand on his past self’s shoulder. “Come inside, Jon. Dinner's getting cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy followed behind her, turning around before closing the door. “Bye, Mr. Blackwood! It was nice meeting you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Jon. It was nice to meet you too.” Jon’s chest felt warm, it had been nice, hadn’t it?</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jon had been in the middle of walking to the beach, planning on looking for shells, when he spotted Mr. Blackwood. The man was sitting outside a cafe, sipping a cup of tea with a somber expression on his face. Jon hadn’t seen the man since the other day, so he hadn’t had the chance to ask why he’d lied to Jon’s grandmother. He’d done it with a straight face too, and his grandmother had seemed to believe the lie. It had been amazing. Jon did wonder why he looked so sad though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He climbed into the chair opposite Mr. Blackwood, which was a little difficult but he managed it in the end. “Hello!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Blackwood blinked at him in surprise. “Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha doin?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, just... Drinking tea.” He held up the cup. “What are you up to today, Jon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing yet, I was gonna go to the beach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you eaten lunch yet?” Jon blinked, he wasn’t aware of what time it was. He’d left the flat around ten, was it lunchtime already?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” Mr. Blackwood chuckled a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should eat something then, you’re a growing boy.” Jon blinked at him, somewhat confused. Mr. Blackwood drained his cup and rose to his feet. “C’mon, it’ll be my treat.” He helped Jon down from the chair before going over to the cafe’s front door. Jon dutifully followed behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of the cafe smelled like jasmine and freshly baked scones. It was a delightful scent, and Jon only got happier when he saw the display case full of cakes and other desserts. “Can I have cakes for lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can have one, Jon. You need actual food first, like a sandwich.” Mr. Blackwood smiled down at him, although his green eyes were as sad as they’d always been. Jon was confused by this, he’d met the man around a week ago, this was the second time they’d ever spoken. Why did Jon feel like he knew Mr. Blackwood so well already? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a huff he turned his attention to the menu, but he had trouble making out what it said. He was good at reading, his teachers at school praised that, but everything had been written in cursive. He didn’t like cursive, sure it looked pretty but it was a pain to make out what anything said. “I want a cheese sandwich.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want something to drink? Juice? Tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apple juice!” His grandmother only kept orange juice in the house, which was alright but Jon didn’t enjoy it quite as much as other kinds. Mr. Blackwood nodded, a knowing look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right then.” He went up to the counter and spoke to the woman there, although Jon couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Then he walked back over, limping somewhat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you forget your cane today?” Jon asked, once again realizing too late that he was probably being rude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I left it at the table, didn’t want to lose our seats.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you be okay without it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll manage.” Another smile. Jon was starting to like that smile, it made Mr. Blackwood look younger. “What were your plans for today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna look for shells at the beach!” He’d nearly forgotten what he’d set out to do that morning. First there had been a cat he needed to pet, then he’d seen a brightly-colored bird and chased it for a bit. Now he’d run into Mr. Blackwood and gotten distracted again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that sounds like fun.” The lady at the counter called out Mr. Blackwood’s order and he limped over to get it, Jon trailing behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need any help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get the door?” Mr. Blackwood held a tray in his hands, on it sat Jon’s cheese sandwich and apple juice, but there was also another cup of tea and two desserts. They looked very yummy. Still, Jon had asked what he could do to help, so he held the door as Mr. Blackwood walked outside and carried the tray back to their table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As cheese sandwiches went Jon’s was fairly good, and his juice was cold and refreshing, but knowing that those desserts were there made it hard to concentrate on anything else. If Mr. Blackwood was aware of this he didn’t seem to mind, he just continued sipping his tea and watching the passers by. Occasionally he would glance at Jon, smiling as though amused by something. Finally Jon finished his food, stuffing the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and chewing it as fast as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you get?” There seemed to be a slice of chocolate cake that had been rolled into a spiral and filled with jam. The other was a fruit tart, several types of berries piled on top of each other in a golden crust. They looked delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A chocolate raspberry swiss roll and a traditional fruit tart. Which do you want?” He was letting Jon pick first? Not only had Mr. Blackwood bought Jon lunch he’d bought cakes, and let Jon pick which one he wanted? That had never happened before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm.” Jon wanted both of them, but he didn’t want to sound too greedy. They both looked so good. He already felt like today was too good to be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you prefer to split them so we each get half?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Mr. Blackwood cut both the cake and the tart in half and divided them up, handing one plate to Jon. They looked so pretty he didn’t want to eat them at first, but he was too curious about what they tasted like to resist for long. He tried the cake first, it was delicious, the tartness of the rasberry and the sweet chocolate balancing each other out. Jon wiggled his feet happily, it had been so long since he’d had cake like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?” Mr. Blackwood was smiling at him again, not touching his own plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Apparently Jon had gotten something on his face because Mr. Blackwood dabbed at his cheek with a napkin, something Jon would have normally protested. He hated it when his grandmother did that, but for some reason he didn’t mind today. It must have been the cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tart was just as good as it looked, the fresh berries were on top of some sort of custard filling and it was nothing like Jon had ever eaten before. It tasted like springtime, although it was the middle of August. Before he knew it his plate was empty, save for a few crumbs. Jon realized that he hadn’t even thanked Mr. Blackwood for the food, which seemed like a terribly important thing to forget about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood!” Jon chirped, and the man smiled at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re quite welcome, Jon.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know I said when I finished YTimY that I didn't want to post fics unless they were finished but... Babbies. (More than just  BbyJon in future chapters) That being said, an update schedule for this might be kinda crazy but I'll do my best! Still, these are long chapters so while I'm aiming for a biweekly posting I'll have to see what happens. </p><p>If you want a traditional time-travel fix it check out my other fic, Your Today is my Yesterday. 53k, completely finished, happy ending.</p><p>Check out my <a href="https://artificialdaydreamer.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if you like, there's cosplay stuff and some other writing things.</p><p>Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought or what your favorite part was in the comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter warnings for child neglect, mentions of child abuse (nothing is actually shown), and unhappy childhoods. It has to happen so we can get to the cute stuff. There is also bby Jon celebrating his birthday.</p><p>Much thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_spies/pseuds/Northern_spies">Northern_spies</a> for the beta!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the people Jon had expected to meet in this alternate universe Gerard Keay wasn’t one of them. It made sense, when he stopped to think about it, that Gerry would still be alive in 1994. He looked to be around thirteen, his dirty blond hair falling to his chin in a manner that suggested he cut it himself. He was dressed in dark jeans, a black shirt for a band Jon didn’t recognize, and battered trainers. He looked like a normal teen, someone who listened to loud music and watched horror movies, someone who used a Ouija board to “contact the spirits.” Yet Mary had forced Gerry to learn about the Entities from a young age and made him help her with her projects. Jon highly doubted he’d ever gone to school or had the chance to be a normal kid. It was painful to think about.</p><p>He’d been in a charity shop, combing all the ones in Bournemouth in search for “A Guest For Mr. Spider” so that his past self would never read the thing. The mere memory of that door, the bloated body staring up at him from the pages of the book, it made him shiver. No, his past self would never go through such a thing if he could help it. The Leitner had been in the fifth shop he’d checked. While Jon knew it had to be destroyed, the thought of touching it again made his stomach churn. Still, he grabbed the book and had no sooner picked it up than someone spoke from next to him.</p><p>“Do you know what that is?” Gerry stared at the book as though expecting it to catch on fire. </p><p>“Yes.” Jon nods and walks to the counter so he could buy the cursed thing. “It’s a Leitner.”</p><p>“What do you want with it?” There’s a strange look in Gerry’s dark eyes that Jon can’t quite recognize. Anger? Fear?</p><p>Having paid for the book, Jon started for the door and Gerry followed behind him. He made sure they’re both outside before he replied. “I plan to burn it.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s evil. The best thing would be to get rid of it, don’t you think?” Jon saw that Gerry was looking at him with a confused expression on his face. “Did you want to join me?”</p><p>Whenever Martin arrived Jon was going to have an interesting time filling him in on the past year. From meeting with his past self for the last six months to burning a book that haunted his childhood with Gerard Keay, it was all a bit weird. Then again, his whole life had been a bit weird, so maybe it wasn’t anything new. </p><p>God he missed Martin. Jon hadn’t returned to Hill Top Road since he’d arrived, but he didn’t have to check to Know that there wouldn’t be anyone there. One year. One year had passed in this other universe and Martin still wasn’t here. What if he never showed up? What if those horrible spider legs still had him? What if he’d been eaten? What if he’d been taken to a different universe than Jon?</p><p>No. Jon couldn’t think like that. He had to believe that Martin would come. Nothing good would come of dwelling on the negative, he had to work towards the future. He still had things he needed to do. Jon had to make sure that both his and Martin’s past selves never worked at the Institute. After that, if Martin still hadn’t shown up, then he could worry. </p><p>“How much do you know?” Gerry’s voice shook Jon out of his thoughts. He’d honestly forgot the teen was there. </p><p>“Know about what?” Jon asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “About Leitners?”</p><p>“About everything.” Gerry toyed with a hole in his jeans. “You clearly know about the Leitners, and I can see Marks all over you. Just what happened to you?”</p><p>What had happened to Jon? That seemed like a long story. Where did he even start? Finding his first Leitner at eight, how it had started Jon on his path to learning about the supernatural and led to him working at the Magnus Institute. </p><p>He’d become Head Archivist  despite having no qualifications and tried to organize the mess he’d been left. Jane Prentiss had trapped Martin in his flat for two weeks and then eventually attacked the Archives. He’d discovered Gertrude had been murdered and started descending into paranoia. He’d accidentally released the Not!Them, which led to meeting Jurgen Leitner in the tunnels below the Institute and getting framed for murder. His obsession with learning about the Entities, with finding out just what was going on had led to him gaining multiple Marks and injuries. Then there was the Unknowing and Tim’s death, something he didn’t like to think about. He’d woken from an impossible coma to find out everyone he’d cared about was either dead or ignoring him. There’d been Peter Lukas and how Martin had tricked him. The Panopticon, the Lonely, the safehouse. So much had happened, and that was all <em> before </em>the Change.</p><p>Jon had also become an Avatar of the Beholding, although he wasn’t sure about how that worked in this universe. He still Knew things, still had bits of information come to him unbidden. The strange thing was that he didn’t have the cravings for statements that he’d used to have before the Change, the addiction he’d suffered from. He was actually feeling more human by the day, which was something he hadn’t realized he’d missed. It was a bit like coming inside after being out in the cold for long enough to have stopped feeling it. The strange return of sensations he’d forgotten existed.</p><p>How could Jon explain any of that to someone who he’d just met? Even for a person like Gerry, who’d known about the Entities from a young age, it was a lot to take in. No. It was best to keep things simple.</p><p>“I used to work at the Magnus Institute.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside him. Gerry had to recognize the name, even if Mary hadn’t told him about his father she’d also gone there several times. He had to know about its connection to the Beholding. “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started working there, I had no idea that the Entities even existed. Still, I was so tempted by knowledge- the need to learn exactly what was happening- that I didn’t see I was walking into a trap. The Head of the Institute was pulling the strings the whole time, even though that’s more the Web’s thing.” </p><p>There was an awkward silence, as though it was taking a second for Gerry to process what Jon had just said. “Wow...” That was it. Then again, when Jon had talked to Gerry before he had talked at length about himself and the Entities in his statement but hadn’t had much sympathy for Jon. He hadn’t even said much about Gertrude dying. Maybe he was just emotionally distant, a product of being raised by Mary.</p><p>“Regardless, seeing what it’s like to live that kind of life, to have everything controlled by the Entities... Well, it’s horrible. You don’t have time to focus on anything else, to live your own life.” He sighed, thinking about what he’d missed out on because he’d been worrying about who killed Gertrude or preventing the world from ending. It had all been for nothing, the world had ended anyway. “So, I’m hoping I can prevent others from having that kind of life. Burning Leitners is just one of the things I can do to help.”</p><p>“‘Prevent others from living that kind of life?’ That’s something you don’t hear every day.” Gerry stared at Jon, as though searching for something. The person underneath the Marks and scars, maybe? “Like me?”</p><p>“If you want my help, sure.” It was hard but Jon managed a smile, the memory of everything he’d been through still fresh in his head, a weight on his shoulders. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Blackwood.”</p><p>“Gerard Keay, I’m from Morden.” Gerry replied. “My mother runs Pinhole Books.” </p><p>“Does she sell Leitners?” Gerry cracked the smallest of grins at that. </p><p>“No, those go in her personal collection. She has other weird stuff though.”</p><p>“I’ll check it out.” Jon fished around in his pocket and pulled out the receipt from the bookstore, scrawling the address to his flat and his phone number on the back of it with a mostly-dry pen. “Here. Not sure if you’ll need it, but write or call me if you need to.”</p><p>Gerry stared at him for a few seconds before taking the receipt. “Thank you.” He seemed at a loss for words. “I will.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Happy birthday.” Mr. Blackwood was waiting in the park when Jon arrived, a paper bag on the bench next to him, a small smile on his face. </p><p>“Did you get me something?” Jon couldn’t help but ask, staring at the bag with interest. His grandmother hadn’t done much for him, new clothes and a book he’d been asking for, but she had never treated his birthday like it was anything special. Other kids in school talked about getting cakes and presents, having parties with the other children. Jon didn’t want a party, he didn’t have any friends at school, but hearing them talk about all the fun they had on their birthdays had made his own feel somewhat depressing. </p><p>Until Mr. Blackwood came along, that was.</p><p>It was strange, how Jon could neatly divide his life into the time before he’d met the scarred man and the year after. How much happier he seemed to be now that he had someone to talk to. Someone that wouldn’t judge him for his interests. </p><p>One time Mr. Blackwood had asked Jon something strange. “Shouldn’t you try to make some friends your own age?”</p><p>Jon hadn’t understood what the man meant. “Why do I need other friends when I have you?” Mr. Blackwood had flushed at that and tried to change the subject.</p><p>“Hello to you too, Jon.” Mr. Blackwood didn’t seem annoyed if Jon forgot his manners from time to time, he never yelled if Jon did something wrong. It was a nice change from his grandmother.</p><p>“Hello, Mr. Blackwood.” Clasping his hands behind his back Jon tried to look anywhere but the bag. Mr. Blackwood was wearing a green jumper today, his cane rested against the bench where he sat, and his glasses needed to be cleaned. His long, dark hair was in a braid today, streaked with gray and silver. “How are you today?”</p><p>“As good as I can be.” There was a faraway look in Mr. Blackwood’s eyes as he spoke, a look Jon had come to realize meant he was remembering something sad. He’d apparently been through a lot, losing his partner for starters. Mr. Blackwood never said who his partner had been, or how they’d died, just that they’d been “gone” one day. Apparently he’d moved back to Bournemouth, he’d grown up a few streets over from Jon, in an attempt to heal. “I hope you had a nice day”</p><p>“Better now!” Jon perked up, sitting down next to Mr. Blackwood and kicking his feet. “Grandmother got me some shirts and a new jumper. Oh! She also got that book you were telling me about!”</p><p>“That was nice of her. I do think you’ll enjoy the book as much as I did.” Another smile. “Tell me what you learned today.”</p><p>“We worked on maths tables some more. I don’t like them much.” Mr. Blackwood chuckled at that.</p><p>“No, I expect you don’t.” </p><p>“I don’t think I’ll ever use maths.” That got a bigger laugh.</p><p>“You’ll use it at some point. For example, how old you are.”</p><p>“I’m eight today!” Jon exclaimed. He liked being eight already, it sounded much better than seven. “How old are you, Mr. Blackwood?”</p><p>“Guess.”</p><p>“Fifty?” Mr. Blackwood started laughing again, his smile wide. </p><p>“I look that old, do I?” He wiped away a tear from one eye. “I’m thirty-three.”</p><p>Jon stared at the man for several seconds, his hair that was more gray than black, the lines on his face, the cane. Thirty-three was still old, but... It didn’t quite make sense.</p><p>“I did get you something, I hope that’s alright with you.” Mr. Blackwood reached for the bag and Jon couldn’t hide his happiness. Not only had someone other than his grandmother remembered his birthday, they’d gotten him a present. </p><p>“Thank you!” Jon cringed at how high-pitched his voice sounded as he accepted the bag, but he couldn’t help it. He was just so excited to have met someone who actually cared about him. Looking in the bag he saw a camera, the kind parents had during events at school. It was made of black plastic and had a strap attached to it. There were a couple of boxes in the bag as well, but Jon didn’t know what they were. “How do I use it?”</p><p>“Hand it over.” Jon reluctantly gave the camera to Mr. Blackwood, who pointed to a lens in the back. “It’s pretty simple, you look through here, find something you want to take a picture of, and press the button.” A bright light went off, making Jon jump. He had to blink several times before his vision cleared. “Sorry, I should have warned you about the flash.”</p><p>Mr. Blackwood pulled the photo from a slot in the front of the camera and handed it to Jon. “It’s black.”</p><p>“You kind of have to shake it...” He waved his unscarred hand back and forth a few times, as though pretending he still held the picture. Jon copied the man, watching as an image started to appear before his eyes. He was unsurprised to see his own face staring back at him, eyes wide with interest, but it was still fascinating how it happened.</p><p>“Can I try?” He wanted a picture of Mr. Blackwood, something to keep with him. Proof he had a friend.</p><p>“Sure, it’s yours after all.”</p><p>“I can... I can keep it?” Jon didn’t know what to say. He’d never been given anything much besides clothes or books in the past. Maybe a few toys, but certainly nothing so nice as a camera. </p><p>“Of course. I did say I’d gotten you a present.” Mr. Blackwood smiled, holding out the camera to him. Jon wanted to cry. Nobody had ever done something so nice for him in his life. He settled for hugging Mr. Blackwood, who almost fell on his back from the force of it. </p><p>“Thank you!” Jon straightened up, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. He couldn’t cry. His grandmother always told him that boys couldn’t cry. He hated when she said that.</p><p>A hand grasped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. “You can cry if you want to, Jon. Don’t bottle up your emotions, it’s not healthy.”</p><p>Somehow it was this, simply being told that it was alright to cry, that made the tears flow. He’d spent so long pretending that he didn’t mind that his grandmother was distant with him, that he didn't mind being teased or ignored by his classmates. He tried to tell himself that he was strong and brave, like the heroes in books he read, but it was all just pretending. Mr. Blackwood was the only person who didn’t treat him like a child, yet allowed him to be one.</p><p>Jon cried into Mr. Blackwood’s chest for a while, until he couldn’t cry any more. Mr. Blackwood didn’t seem to mind that his jumper was getting soaked with tears and other stuff, he just kept stroking Jon’s back in a way that made him feel cared for. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held him like this. Finally the tears stopped and he sat up, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize for crying.” Mr. Blackwood pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started dabbing at Jon’s cheeks with it. “I told you, you’re allowed to cry if you want to.”</p><p>“But... But your jumper.”</p><p>“I can wash it. It’s only a jumper.” He held the handkerchief over Jon’s nose. “Blow.” Jon did as he said, feeling a bit better afterwards.</p><p>“Why are you so nice to me?” Jon felt bad about asking, but he had to know. It had been bothering him for a while. </p><p>Mr. Blackwood was silent for a few seconds, as though thinking about his answer. “You remind me a lot of myself, when I was a child. Not just in looks but well... I was always reading and didn’t have many friends.” He sighed. “I want you to have a better life than I did.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“A great many things. Some good, some bad. I learned from my mistakes though, and because I see myself in you I want to make sure you don’t make the same mistakes.” He held up the camera. “Did you want to give it a try?”</p><p>When Jon returned home that day his grandmother didn’t question his red eyes, although she did wonder where he’d gotten such a nice camera from. When he told her that it was a gift from Mr. Blackwood she huffed, and he wondered why she didn’t like him. Apparently Mr. Blackwood was Jon’s “second cousin once removed,” although he had no idea what that meant besides that they were distantly related. She didn’t push the issue though, and he went to his room so he could admire the small collection of photos he now had. His favorite was one that they’d gotten a passerby to take, a picture of himself and Mr. Blackwood, smiling at the camera. </p><p>“Your son is very polite.” The woman had smiled at them, but Mr. Blackwood had flushed slightly. </p><p>“He’s not...” He’d started to say before trailing off. Jon knew what he’d been about to say though. “He’s not my son.” Looking at the photo Jon wished that Mr. Blackwood was his father. It would have been nice to have a parent like him.</p>
<hr/><p>Pinhole Books looked like the average used bookstore, albeit a bit more run-down than most Jon had visited. The front windows could use a good cleaning and the shelves were a bit dusty, but apart from that it was nice. The business hours had been listed next to the door as “open weekdays from nine to six, unless there are extenuating circumstances. Closed on days the owner is away.” Given how much Mary Keay was said to have traveled, Jon guessed she spent little time in the shop, and Gerry was too young to manage things by himself. Jon had visited Pinhole Books about half a dozen times in the past six months but it had only been open twice.</p><p>Gerry was seated about halfway up one of the bookshelf ladders when Jon arrived, leafing through what seemed to be a music magazine. He glanced up from its pages, having heard the bell jingle, and his eyes widened when he saw who’d entered the shop. Before he had a chance to say anything, Mary burst out of the back room, slamming the door behind her. Jon ducked behind some shelves when he saw her, thinking it was best to avoid her at the moment. </p><p>“Idiot!” Mary’s voice was full of anger as she berated her son. “How many times have I told you not to touch my things?”</p><p>“I di-” Gerry started to reply, but he could barely get a word out before he was cut off.</p><p>“Don’t talk back to me!” Jon poked his head around the bookshelf the slightest amount so he could see what was happening. Mary’s eyes blazed as she shouted, nostrils flaring. “You know how I feel about back talk!” </p><p>“Excuse me-” Jon figured it was best to interrupt before things got too heated. Mary seemed taken aback when she saw him, as though she had thought no one was around to witness her horrid behavior. Gerry took the opportunity to slide off the ladder, walk past his mother, and leave the shop. Jon grabbed a random book off the shelf, not even bothering to check the name or price. “I’d like to purchase this.”</p><p>Thankfully Mary was more than- well she wasn’t exactly happy, but she didn’t snap at Jon while he paid a hefty price for the book. She barely said a word to him, besides telling him how much he owed and asking if he wanted a bag. Jon didn’t mind, he didn’t particularly want to talk to her. Upon leaving the shop he tried to figure out where Gerry went, tapping into the Beholding to follow the teen’s path. Jon found him in a nearby park, sitting on the railing of a bridge and staring into the river beneath him</p><p>“Should I be concerned that you followed me?” Gerry asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at Jon. </p><p>“How’d you know it was me?”</p><p>“I heard your cane. Wasn’t a hard deduction to make.” Gerry sniffed and threw a pebble into the river. </p><p>Jon wasn’t sure what to say at first, but he decided to speak anyway. “Is she always like that?”</p><p>“Most days, yeah. Some days are better than others, some are worse.” </p><p>“I don’t like that.”</p><p>“Good for you.” Gerry’s hair was longer now, it brushed the top of his shoulders but it looked like it hadn’t been washed in several days. His clothes too seemed dirty, his trainers had multiple holes in them and his trousers looked like they’d been mended several times.</p><p>“Do you remember how I said I wanted to prevent others from living the kind of life I had?” Jon asked, the barest hint of an idea forming in his head.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Your mother, she’s not the best caretaker, is she?” Suddenly speaking felt like he was dismantling a bomb, if he messed up the situation would become dangerous.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“You could live with me.” Careful, he had to be cautious with what he said. “I’m not saying I’d be the best guardian but-”</p><p>“Out of the question.” Gerry scoffed, and Jon couldn’t blame him. It was a crazy idea. “I barely know you.”</p><p>“True, I’m essentially a stranger to you. I do want to help you though. You’ve been forced to learn about a world that’s dangerous, things that could get you killed or give you a fate worse than death.” As he said it Jon realized he was being honest. Gerry hadn’t even been given a choice for most of his life, but Jon would give him one now. “I figure you should at least be given the option of having a semi-normal life with a guardian who cares about you.” </p><p>Gerry hopped down from the railing and stared at Jon, but he didn’t look upset. He looked confused, as though he couldn’t understand why a complete stranger would want to help him. It was a fair thing to wonder.</p><p>“The choice is yours. Do you still have my address?” </p><p>“Yeah.” Gerry nodded, still a bit dumbfounded.</p><p>“You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”</p>
<hr/><p>“How did you get your scars?” Jon asked the next time he saw Mr. Blackwood. The man had bought them some ice cream, chocolate for Jon and rum and raisin for himself. They’d sat side by side on a bench in silence for a few minutes while they ate, until Jon finally got the courage to ask the question that had been bothering him since they’d met over a year ago.</p><p>To his credit, Mr. Blackwood didn’t seem offended. His lips were pursed in a manner that Jon had come to recognize meant he was thinking. His vivid green eyes seemed to grow even brighter, although that was impossible. Finally he spoke. “Which ones?”</p><p>Jon hadn’t expected that answer, he’d figured that Mr. Blackwood would either say that he didn’t feel like talking about it or change the subject. “What happened to your hand?”</p><p>Mr. Blackwood held up his scarred palm. It was obviously an old injury but the skin was discolored and lumpy in places. If Jon squinted he’d almost say it looked like a handprint. “This came from a burn, hot wax.”</p><p>“What about your throat?” He ran a finger across the raised line, pursing his lips once more. </p><p>“Someone tried threatening me.” The only scars remaining were the small ones that dotted his face and arms, although Jon suspected they might cover his entire body. Before he had a chance to ask about them Mr. Blackwood spoke again. “The other ones are from bugs, there was an infestation at my last job.” He tapped his thigh, tracing a small circle. “One got infected, it’s why I have to use the cane.”</p><p>Jon felt sad, which he hadn’t expected. He’d figured that getting the answers to his questions would be a good thing. That wasn’t the case. Hearing about all that Mr. Blackwood had been through, his multiple injuries that had left him scarred and battered, losing his partner. It suddenly made sense why he looked older than he was, he’d endured so much.</p><p>Putting down his half-empty cup of ice cream, Jon hugged Mr. Blackwood, wrapping his thin arms around the man’s waist. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t feel like crying.</p><p>“Thank you.” Mr. Blackwood returned the hug, albeit a bit awkwardly since he still held his own ice cream. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”</p><p>Jon sat back up and sniffed. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who asked you about your scars.”</p><p>“You seem upset.” Giving his shoulders a small shrug Mr. Blackwood pointed at Jon’s hand. “Your ice cream is melting.”</p><p>“Ah!”</p><p>They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mr. Blackwood spoke up. “I know they probably look pretty bad but apart from my leg and my hand most of them don’t hurt anymore.”</p><p>“Your hand bothers you?” Examining the burn scar once more Jon couldn’t help but wonder just how bad the injury had been to leave such a mark behind. He also noticed a small line on the man’s pinky finger, as though from a cut.</p><p>“From time to time, there was some nerve damage that didn’t heal.” Mr. Blackwood flexed his scarred hand and Jon saw that he couldn’t bend his fingers past a certain point. It had to be troublesome. “If you ever meet someone made of wax, don’t shake their hand.”</p><p>“You mean, like at a wax museum?” Jon had never been to one of those, he’d always found the idea creepy.</p><p>“Stay away from those too. They’re bad news.”</p>
<hr/><p>Jon had been in the middle of reading a book when there was a knock on his front door. A glance at his clock showed it was almost eleven, who would come to him so late? A glance out the peephole showed it was Gerard Keay, and Jon saw soon enough why he was there.</p><p>He opened the door so quickly he nearly pulled it off its hinges, staring at Gerry as he felt white-hot anger rise within him. “Can I stay here for the night?” Gerry asked, holding a hand to his cheek, or more accurately, the welt on his cheek. His lip was bleeding as well, but Jon couldn’t see any other injuries. Mary had to have done this, and Gerry’s reaction seemed to imply that this wasn’t the first time it’d happened.</p><p>“Stay as long as you like.” Jon replied, stepping aside so Gerry could come inside. He shook from rage, he’d seen Mary yell at her son, but he’d never expected this. Then again, she’d murdered her husband and tormented Gerry for years after her botched attempt to bind herself to the Leitner. Jon had messed up by not pushing harder for Gerry to stay with him sooner, by not visiting Pinhole Books more. </p><p>“I’m sorry...” Gerry muttered, settling into an armchair in the sitting room. “I didn’t know where else to go.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize for coming to me. I said I wanted to help people, didn’t I?” It was hard for Jon to keep his voice steady when all he wanted to do was go back to Morden and- No. He wouldn’t sink to Mary’s level. She didn’t deserve to die, she deserved to rot in prison for everything she’d done. For the time being though, he had to make sure she lost custody of Gerry.</p><p>“Thank you...” Gerry muttered, still holding his cheek.</p><p>“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Jon went to his kitchen and pulled out a cold pack, handing it over before grabbing a first aid kit from his bathroom. He wet a cloth and set to cleaning Gerry’s split lip, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He feared his shaking hands might betray how angry he was. “Do you have any other injuries?”</p><p>Gerry shook his head. “No, she only got one hit in before I ran.”</p><p>“Right.” Jon stood up, closing the first aid kit and setting it on the coffee table. “I don’t have a guest room but if you like you can take my bed, I can sleep on-”</p><p>“No!” Gerry cut him off, eyes wide. “No, I can’t take your bed! I’ll take the sofa, it’s fine!”</p><p>“Take the bed.” Jon didn’t phrase it as a question. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway.”</p><p>Once Gerry had changed into a pair of spare pajamas and gotten into bed Jon didn’t waste time in leaving the flat. He didn’t care if Gerry heard him go, he had things to do. The trip to Morden was a blur, one second he’d arrived at the train station and the next he was outside of Pinhole Books. Mary lived above the store, and from the lights Jon knew she was home. Gerry had left the door to the stairwell open when he’d left, so it was easy enough for Jon to get to the flat.</p><p>“Mary Keay?” Jon banged on the door, probably a bit harder than was necessary. No response, but it was unlikely that she was sleeping despite the late hour. “I know you’re in there.”</p><p>Finally the door opened a crack and one dark eye peered out at him. “What do you want?”</p><p>“You hit your son.” Once again it wasn’t a question. Jon didn’t feel like wasting time with her. </p><p>“Are you police?”</p><p>“No.” There were so many things Jon could do to Mary Keay, so many things he wanted to do to her. She wasn’t as bad as Elias, but she was worse in other ways. She’d never felt the need to tie herself to an Entity but she’d still done unspeakable things to serve her own twisted goals. Still, that wasn’t why he was here. Jon was here to help Gerry. He pushed the door open so she could see him fully, scars, marks, and from the look on her face his eyes were probably glowing.</p><p>“What are you doing?” There was actual fear in her voice as she took a few steps backwards away from him. Jon couldn’t care less, the Beholding was flooding his head with knowledge of all that Gerry had been through in this universe. He’d suffered in silence for so long, but he wouldn’t have to deal with her any more.</p><p>“You have tormented your son for so long.” Jon said, it was like facing Not!Sasha at the carousel, static filling the air as he stared deep into her eyes. “You’ve forced him to endure so much. You killed his father before Gerry was old enough to remember him. You abused him both mentally and physically.”</p><p>“Stop... Please...” Mary was whimpering now, continuing to back away from him.</p><p>“Feel it now, how you’ve made him suffer. You have caused him so much pain to serve your own needs, and now it’s your turn.” </p><p>Mary collapsed to the ground, clutching her head and sobbing.</p><p>“Tomorrow you are going to turn yourself in. Admit what you did to your husband and son and accept the punishment you deserve.”</p><p>“Alright, I will!” Mary blubbered. “Just make it stop!”</p><p>Jon obliged, and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. Mary was shuddering and whimpering now, the pain she’d inflicted on her son too much for her to bear. There was a sick sort of satisfaction in seeing her reduced to a sniveling mess, that someone who was willing to be so cruel to others couldn’t handle it when she was on the receiving end. </p><p>“What are you?” The words came out as a sob.</p><p>Jon glanced at her once more, clutching her head. “it doesn’t matter what I am, just pray you never see me again.”</p><p>He stepped over her and walked to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines of what he knew to be Leitners until he found what he was looking for. He recognized it from spending time with Julia and Trevor, using it to talk to Gerry. The pages of the book were leathery, which was to be expected since they were made of human skin, but finally he found Eric’s page. He tore it out as carefully as he could before replacing the book on the shelf. </p><p>“What did you-?” Mary started to ask but Jon cut her off with a glare.</p><p>“A son deserves to talk to his father, don’t you think?”</p>
<hr/><p>When Gerard Keay woke the following morning he didn’t know where he was at first. He didn’t recognize the pale green walls or the bed he was in, but it wasn’t until he felt the pain in his cheek that it came to him. Right, he was at that man’s flat. Mr. Blackwood or something like that. Gerard had come to him after his mother had had another fit of rage. </p><p>It was strange. Gerard had originally just planned on running away, from getting as far away from his mother as was possible, but somehow his feet had taken him on a train to Bournemouth. It wasn’t until he stood outside the address the man had given him that he realized what had happened. Why had he felt that this was the safest place to go when he barely knew this man? Was it because he was as mixed up with the entities as Gerard was?</p><p>Still, Mr. Blackwood had seemed to take one look at Gerard and understand what had happened. Not only that, he’d seemed mad about it, furious at Gerard’s mother. It was weird, that this stranger was so upset for Gerard’s sake.</p><p>“You’re awake.” Mr. Blackwood leaned against the door frame. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before and Gerard wondered if he’d slept at all. From the shadows under his eyes it certainly didn’t seem like it. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Gerard tried to answer but a throb of pain from his cheek caused him to hiss in pain instead. He supposed it might convey enough information anyway. </p><p>“I’ll get more ice and some paracetamol.” The man left the room, returning a minute later with the items. Gerard accepted them without a word, the ice felt amazing on his bruised cheek. </p><p>“Thank you.” He managed to get the words out, although it made his face hurt.</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Where did you go last night?” Gerard hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted the question answered until it was out of his mouth. He’d known that Mr. Blackwood had left right after putting him to bed, had guessed that it’d had something to do with him. He also had an idea of just what had happened but he needed to hear the truth for himself.</p><p>Mr. Blackwood blinked, not as though he hadn’t heard Gerard correctly, more of a tired blink. He seemed to be struggling to think of a proper response for one reason or another. “I think you already know the answer to that.”</p><p>“Did you go see my mother?”</p><p>“Yes.” There it was. Such a simple answer and yet it sent a shiver through Gerard. </p><p>“What did you do to her?” His voice shook somewhat, although Gerard didn’t know why that was. Mr. Blackwood had been furious to see what had happened to him last night, someone so intertwined with the Entities was surely capable of doing any number of horrible things. Still, he hadn’t taken anything with him besides his cane so whatever he’d done had been his own power. </p><p>“I am, as you probably have guessed, an Avatar of the Eye.” Gerard had noticed, it lined up with having worked at the Magnus Institute. “I simply made her feel the pain she’d inflicted on you for so long.”</p><p>“Why? You barely know me?” </p><p>“I don’t have to know you, Gerry, to think you deserve better than a mother like that.” Gerry? Gerard had never had a nickname before, had never even really given it a thought. It wasn’t like there was anyone who’d call him by one anyway. He liked Gerry though, it sounded nice. Also, he appreciated what Mr. Blackwood was saying.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Your mother should be turning herself in right about now. She agreed to confess her crimes and accept her punishment. You don't have to live with her anymore.” Gerard- no, <em> Gerry </em>wasn’t sure he’d heard Mr. Blackwood correctly. Confess her crimes? That didn’t sound like his mother at all.</p><p>“So what’s going to happen to me?” If his mother was arrested, where would he live?”</p><p>“My offer from before still stands. I could become your legal guardian, if you want.” Mr. Blackwood sat down on the edge of the bed, and Gerry could see that despite the man’s scars and Marks, despite him being an Avatar, he was a genuinely good person. “I won’t force you though. This is your decision and I’ll respect whatever it is you choose.”</p><p>It was so strange. For all of Gerry’s life he’d had to deal with his mother’s strange behavior. Her obsession with their family’s legacy, with collecting Leitners and artifacts. She’d forced him to learn about the Entities when he was too young to understand any of what she was saying, dragged him into a world of fear and monsters. He’d never had a choice in anything that had happened to him, and any time he tried to protest her decisions she’d yell at him, insult him, and on the rare occasion she’d hit him. His mother had never once treated Gerry with the kindness and understanding that this man had after only knowing him a short while. </p><p>The answer was obvious.</p><p>“I’ll be in your care, then.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Future Jon arrives in 1993. "Alright, I overshot things a bit but I can still help my younger self." He sees all the sad babbies. "I guess I'm a dad now."</p><p>Apparently Ao3 messed up something when I posted the last chapter, I didn't even know this site had "hell hours" where if you post a fic it gets pushed to the back of things, but alas, it happened. Still, it encouraged me to finish this chapter in hopes more people would read this. </p><p>Also, since people were asking and I don't feel like making readers wait and see what happens next like in YTimY: Future Martin WILL come back. He's just stuck in transit. Future Jon MIGHT have adopted three kids by the time that happens.</p><p>Check out my <a href="https://artificialdaydreamer.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if you like or want to ask questions/make requests for what you want to see with the babbies. There's also pics of my Helen cosplay!</p><p>Thank you for reading! Let me know what your favorite part was in the comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Little Jon and Gerry meet, a misunderstanding happens and is resolved, Gerry gets to talk to his father, and bonds are formed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize for the wait! Here’s chapter three! Content warnings in end notes.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_spies/pseuds/Northern_spies">Northern_spies</a> for the beta!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gerry flinched instinctively when Mr. Blackwood reached towards him, cursing inwardly for his reaction. Then he noticed that there was something held in the man’s scarred hand. It looked like it was made of a leathery material, and it had been written upon in what he recognized to be his mother’s handwriting. He took the thing, staring at the words written on it in confusion. “What is it?” </p><p>“I took this page from one of your mother’s books.” Mr. Blackwood’s expression was anxious. “It’s... It has your father’s soul in it. I figured you might like to talk to him.”</p><p>“My-” Gerry gulped, his throat suddenly dry. “My father? How did you- How did you know?”</p><p>“Avatar of the Beholding, remember?” Mr. Blackwood’s cheeks darkened slightly, was he blushing? “Knowing things is... It’s what I do.”</p><p>Looking at the page he now held he realized which of the books it must have been taken from. Gerry didn’t know what to say, how he was supposed to respond to being given such a gift. His mother had owned it for as long as he could remember, longer than he’d been alive. She claimed it could store the souls of people and that those souls could be summoned at will. All this time... She’d had his father trapped in here and never told him?</p><p>“You have to read the page aloud to summon him.” Mr. Blackwood stood from the bed that Gerry was still tucked into. “I don’t know if you want to do it now or if you’ll need more time to... Prepare, or something? I understand it’s a lot to take in...” He trailed off, looking awkward.</p><p>Nodding in response, Gerry stared at the name written upon it. Eric Delano. <em> Delano</em>? Not Keay? No. Given his mother’s obsession with creating her own supernatural bloodline there was no way she’d take someone else’s last name. Still... It was a strange feeling, not knowing what his own father’s name had been. He’d asked his mother several times, wanting to know what his father had been like. She’d brushed off the question at first, giving him vague answers that didn’t actually clear things up. As he grew older she became meaner, yelling at him for even daring to mention his father. Eventually Gerry had given up, it was a mystery he’d never thought might get answered. </p><p>The page in his hand seemed infinitely more valuable now that he knew what it was. Yet some part of Gerry was scared. If this Eric was the man his mother had loved, what could he possibly be like? Was he as bad as his mother had been? Worse? </p><p>“He’s a nice man.” Gerry had forgotten that Mr. Blackwood was there, and the man was looking at him, his sad, green eyes full of concern. “I Know that much. He loved you very much, and one of his greatest regrets was not being able to protect you from your mother.”</p><p>It took a great effort not to cry, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt like crying in the first place. Maybe he was still overwhelmed by the kindness Mr. Blackwood had already shown him, that he was continuing to show Gerry. Maybe it was the prospect of being able to talk to his father, knowing that Eric had been a good man who’d loved him. It was a lot to take in.</p><p>He didn’t think he could talk to his father today. Gerry wanted to, but he just didn’t feel ready. The thought made him nervous, what if his father would be disappointed in him? He managed to shake that thought away. No. He’d talk to his father when he was ready, it wasn’t like the man was going anywhere.</p><p>“Thank you.” Gerry managed to get the words out. “I mean it.”</p><hr/><p>Mr. Blackwood wasn’t alone when Jon showed up to the oceanarium, a teenage boy stood beside him. He had shoulder-length blond hair and wore a black leather jacket, which didn’t seem warm enough for the chilly afternoon; Jon had worn his thickest jumper and coat but he still felt cold. The teen reminded Jon of all the older kids who teased him and took his books, what was he doing talking to Mr. Blackwood?</p><p>“Ah, good afternoon, Jon.” Mr. Blackwood smiled at him, that sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. </p><p>“Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwood.” Jon tried to return the smile but he felt uneasy, the teen was now staring at him. </p><p>“This is Gerry,” the teen gave a brief nod when Mr. Blackwood gestured to him but made no further attempt at a greeting. “He’s going to be living with me.”</p><p>Living with Mr. Blackwood? <em> Living </em>with him? Jon didn’t understand. Why did this teen get to live with Mr. Blackwood and Jon didn’t? Hadn’t Jon known him for so much longer, shouldn’t it be Jon living with him? “Are you his dad now?”</p><p>“No, I’m his guardian.”</p><p>Jon didn’t know what the difference was, or even what a guardian was. It made him think of knights or other kinds of protectors. Was that what Mr. Blackwood now was? He clenched his fists and frowned, it didn’t seem fair. “No!”</p><p>Mr. Blackwood looked surprised at this, blinking several times. “I’m sorry? I don’t-” Jon didn’t let him finish. He didn’t care if he was being rude, he needed to make Mr. Blackwood understand what he was feeling. </p><p>“No!” He stomped his foot. “I had dibs!”</p><p>“What?” Now the man looked confused, although the teen’s bored expression hadn’t changed. </p><p>“I had dibs.” Jon repeated, not sure what was so hard to understand. Mr. Blackwood narrowed his eyes in confusion. “On having you for a dad.”</p><p>Blinking several times Mr. Blackwood lifted a hand to his head as though trying to run his fingers through his hair but couldn’t as it was tied back in a ponytail. “Jon...” He sighed, kneeling down so they could be eye-to-eye. “You have a guardian. You live with your grandmother.”</p><p>“I wanna live with you!” Jon blurted out, surprised at his own boldness. “She doesn’t care about me! You actually let me tell you about books ‘n you don’t treat me like a kid!”</p><p>There was a silence, during which Jon wondered if he’d ruined his relationship with Mr. Blackwood, if the man would want to stop hanging out with him now that he’d said such a bold thing. After a minute the man finally spoke. “Jon, you’re a great kid but I can’t be your guardian when you already have one. I’m sorry.” He knelt down so he was closer to Jon’s eye level, wincing as he did so, and started wiping at tears Jon hadn’t realized were there. When had he started crying?</p><p>“But... But...” He was sniffling now, and the teen was looking uncomfortable. </p><p>“Gerry, would you mind leaving me to talk with Jon? We can go to the oceanarium another day.” The teen nodded at Mr. Blackwood and walked down the stone steps, hands in his pockets. “Jon, can we go inside to have this discussion? It’s a bit cold out.” Right, it had been cold when Jon had arrived but he was so upset his cheeks were burning. Still, he didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was so he nodded. He accepted Mr. Blackwood’s outstretched hand and walked inside the museum.</p><p>“Jon...” Those bright green eyes looked even sadder than they normally did. They were seated in the cafe, although neither of them had ordered anything. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, but I can’t be your guardian. Not unless your grandmother allows it.”</p><p>“Why?” Jon hated how his voice trembled, he hated the possibility of seeming pathetic in front of Mr. Blackwood and wrecking their relationship more than he already had.</p><p>Mr. Blackwood rubbed a spot above his left eye. “Because the way custody works is... How do I explain this?” He sighed. “She’s your closest living relative, so she’s responsible for raising you. Gerry doesn’t have any close family, so I volunteered to look after him.”</p><p>“Aren’t you my family? Doesn’t that count?” </p><p>“It doesn’t work like that.. Please, Jon... I’d love to look after you too but... I can talk to your grandmother about letting you stay with me for the night sometime but I’m not sure if there’s more I can do.”</p><p>It still didn’t make much sense to Jon but he understood that he was causing Mr. Blackwood to feel bad and decided not to press the issue too much farther. “Alright.”</p><p>“I’ll walk you home, c’mon.”</p><hr/><p>Jon’s head was well and truly throbbing by the time he returned to his flat. He rummaged in the cabinets and wished he had something stronger than paracetamol, he doubted it would work on supernatural pain. Part of his problem was that he’d tried to use the Beholding to Know things and hadn’t been able to, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he had a bad wifi connection, although it was still years before such a thing would even exist in this universe. Ever since confronting Mary Keay he’d been struggling to use his powers, which didn’t seem possible. Then again, he also felt more human than he had since before the coma. </p><p>The Entities still existed in this universe, that much was obvious to him, but they also felt... strange. Like they had changed somewhat. Considering that several other things were different in this world compared to the one he’d left behind was it so crazy to wonder if the Fears themselves were tied to a specific universe? That Jon had been bound to the Beholding of his old world, not this one, and that being so far away was slowly severing the connection? It was only a theory, but the pounding in his head told him that it was definitely possible.</p><p>“Who’s the kid?” Gerry asked from the sitting room, startling Jon out of his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed there was anyone else in the room. </p><p>“He’s a relative.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but he didn’t feel like now was a good time to tell the truth. Jon knew he’d have to tell Gerry about the time travel eventually, he should probably tell his past self as well, but the thought of doing so made his head pound even harder. “I ran into him when I moved here and he took a liking to me.”</p><p>“I can see that.” Gerry flipped a page in his magazine, his expression bored. “So, are you adopting all the wayward children you come across?”</p><p>“First off, I am technically your legal guardian. I did not adopt you.” Jon sighed and hung his coat up. “Second, he already lives with his grandmother and I <em> highly </em>doubt she’d hand custody over to me.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why would a grandmother give custody of her grandson over to a distant relative that has known said grandson for two years? I honestly have no idea.” </p><p>“So, seeing as he’s not with you I’m guessing you let him down gently?” Gerry ignored the sarcasm, he didn’t even look up as Jon sat down on the battered sofa. </p><p>“I worked out a sort-of compromise, seeing as we’re going to be moving to a new place anyway.” They’d managed to find a decently-priced house in Southbourne and were set to move in next week. <em> Decently-priced </em>, Martin might have a heart attack looking at how much it had cost, but Jon had made more than enough to cover the down-payment. It really did pay to know what companies were likely to do well in the stock market. “Jon can stay over one Saturday a month once we’re moved in.”</p><p>Now Gerry stared at Jon, his expression displeased. “Excuse me?” He set the magazine down across his lap. “Are you actually looking to adopt him?”</p><p>Despite having endured the actual apocalypse, one where he could not escape the watchful gaze of the Eye, Gerry’s gaze caused him more anxiety. How was it possible for teenagers to look so judgemental? “Maybe? I mean, from what I’ve seen he’s not...” Jon sighed, trying to find the right words. “His grandmother isn’t the best guardian, and I want to make sure he’s taken care of. He deserves that, at least.”</p><hr/><p>Jon had never been in such a nice house before. The flat he lived with his grandmother in was small and cramped, his bedroom barely wide enough for his bed and a dresser. Here his room was large enough for all that as well as a wooden shelf stocked with interesting-looking books, a box of toys he wasn’t sure he’d end up using, and still had space left over. The walls had been painted a pale purple color, something Jon knew his grandmother would never have approved of as it might have seemed “girly” but he loved it. The floor was covered in a blue carpet that was so plush he could feel it through his socks. His eyes were drawn to the bed though, it was larger than his other bed, almost as big as his grandmother’s, and had a purple duvet on it. Jon jumped onto it, sinking into the soft mattress, and had to resist giggling from how happy he was.</p><p>“You like it?” Mr. Blackwood watched him from the doorway, a small smile on his lips. “I had Gerry help me pick the books out for you.”</p><p>“I love it!” Jon squealed, sitting back up. He wasn’t thrilled about how Gerry had anything to do with this amazing room but he was too happy to care. Besides, he got to stay with Mr. Blackwood! Even if it was just one day a month it was more than he could have hoped for. He’d been surprised that his grandmother had actually agreed to let him stay here, she didn’t seem to like Mr. Blackwood very much, for some reason. Jon had never bothered to ask why. </p><p>“That’s a relief.” Mr. Blackwood sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning his cane against the mattress. “Is it missing anything?” His bright eyes seemed to look Jon up and down.</p><p>“Nope!” </p><p>“Well then, are you alright with getting some takeaway tonight? I’m still a bit knackered from getting everything set up.”</p><p>It was strange, despite everything that Mr. Blackwood had done for him already Jon still wasn’t used to being treated like his opinion mattered. His grandmother always said “eat it or don’t eat anything” when it came to meals. There were certain foods that he liked better than others but if asked he couldn’t name any of them. Still, Mr. Blackwood not only asked him what he wanted to eat but also let him weigh in on what they watched afterwards. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke to Mr. Blackwood gently shaking his shoulder.</p><p>“Time for bed, I believe.”</p><hr/><p>“Can I come in?” Gerry glanced at the door and debated for a second whether or not to pretend he was asleep. Would Mr. Blackwood Know if he was faking?</p><p>“Sure.” He replied, not bothering to look up from the book he was reading. </p><p>“I brought you some dinner, since you didn’t want to join us.” Mr. Blackwood’s voice was casual but Gerry could sense the underlying question.</p><p>“I wasn’t hungry.”</p><p>Mr. Blackwood sighed, and there was a clink of something being set down on the end table. “Gerry...”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I get you’re not <em> thrilled </em>that Jon’s going to be staying here.” Gerry sighed and put the book down.</p><p>“He’s a kid, alright?” He brushed his bangs out of his eyes. They were at an awkward length, and he wondered if he wondered if Mr. Blackwood might be able to help manage his hair. “I’m not good with kids.”</p><p>“Have you even talked with him?” Mr. Blackwood sat down on the bed, and it might have been the light but his eyes looked sadder than they usually did.</p><p>“A couple of times, yeah. He seems like a brat.”</p><p>It was Mr. Blackwood’s turn to sigh. “His parents died when he was very young and while his grandmother takes care of him... Well, she doesn’t exactly pay attention to him. He doesn’t have many friends, so I doubt he realizes how he’s acting.” Gerry had heard that Jon didn’t have the best upbringing, and considering Mr. Blackwood’s quest of helping sad children he wasn’t surprised about how things had turned out. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like Jon.</p><p>“I’ll give him a chance, but I don’t promise anything.”</p><hr/><p>Mr. Blackwood wasn’t asleep when Jon knocked on the bedroom door, which was somewhat of a relief. His grandmother had always been cranky to be woken up in the middle of the night, no matter the reason. Mr. Blackwood was sitting up in bed, reading a book in the glow of a lamp on the bedside table. He looked up at Jon when the door creaked open, those bright eyes wide with concern.</p><p>“Hello there,” There was no annoyance at having been disturbed, no exasperation at seeing Jon was still awake. It was surreal. </p><p>“Mr. Blackwood...” Jon started to say, but was scared to admit the truth. </p><p>“Yes, Jon? What’s the matter?”</p><p>“I had a nightmare.” The words came spilling out of him but it felt good, like a weight had been lifted off his chest.</p><p>“A nightmare? That’s no good.” Putting his book down, Mr. Blackwood sat up a bit straighter. “You can tell me about it if you want.”</p><p>No. Jon didn’t want to think about his nightmare, how he’d been chased by a shapeless monster of darkness and woken up just as it had been looming over him. He was afraid to fall asleep again, certain that the second he closed his eyes the creature would gobble him up. Jon shook his head, hoping that Mr. Blackwood would understand.</p><p>“Alright then.” The man nodded, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together. “Did you want to sleep in my bed?”</p><p>The offer was so strange, so foreign to Jon that he didn’t understand what Mr. Blackwood meant at first. He was so used to his grandmother just telling him to go back to bed if he’d had a nightmare, to stop bothering her. She’d never comforted him, never asked if he needed to talk about it. She’d certainly never let him sleep with her. </p><p>“Can I?” Jon’s voice sounded small to his ears, a question whose answer he was both eager and terrified to hear.</p><p>“Of course.” To his immense relief Mr. Blackwood gave a small smile and gestured to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet back. Jon scrambled underneath it, burrowing down into the soft mattress until nothing but his head was left visible. From beside him Mr. Blackwood chuckled a bit and started to gently stroke his hair. At first Jon flinched from the touch, not sure what was happening, but once he figured it out he found the gesture very soothing. Was this what a good parent did?</p><p><em> “Some things unknown, a million places unseen, </em> ” He wasn’t sure what he was hearing, until he glanced over and saw Mr. Blackwood was singing. His eyes were shut as he continued to gently run a scarred hand through Jon’s hair. <em> “Across the vast wastes of space a thousand tales untold, this crew immortal can tell these tales untold.” </em> </p><p>Jon was sure he’d never heard this song before, it didn’t quite sound like a lullaby, but the tune was slow and soothing. It seemed to be a song about a planet, or was it a bird? Mr. Blackwood’s voice was so gentle, he felt his eyes drift slowly shut. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke the next morning his dreams had been monster-free.</p><hr/><p>“I’m sorry, what?” Jon wasn’t sure he’d heard his grandmother correctly. He hadn’t been expecting to see her at all, it wasn’t one of the days he was to take care of his past self. The original agreement had been for one Saturday a month, which had turned into staying over for a whole weekend every fortnight. Jon didn’t mind, the kid had really grown on him in the two years they’d known each other.</p><p>“I said you can be Jon’s guardian, if you still wanted to take him in.” The woman’s face was inscrutable, a mask of indifference. “You’ve proven yourself to be more than competent, Jon can’t stop talking about everything you do for him, and I’m too old to be running after children.”</p><p>It took a moment for her words to sink in. His grandmother was granting him permission to look after his past self? Jon hadn’t been sure that would ever happen. She’d been so against it at first, and she was always so strict, so firm about rules. He couldn't remember a time that she’d been persuaded to let something slide as a child. Was it possible that she was slightly different in this universe?</p><p>“Yes,” He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice less shaky. “Yes, of course I can look after him. If that’s what he wants.”</p><p>“Then it’s settled.” Narrowing her eyes Jon’s grandmother met his gaze. “Shall we go somewhere to sort out the paperwork?”</p><p>Nodding, Jon showed her to the room he’d set up as an office. “I’m guessing you want to go over more than just legal details.”</p><p>“Who exactly are you?” His grandmother wasted no time in getting to the point. </p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“I know you must be a relative- you have the resemblance, but there is no ‘Jonathan Blackwood’ anywhere in our family. No other Jonathans besides my grandson.” She looked him up and down, taking in his scars and greying hair. “Which begs the question: who exactly are you?”</p><p>“I’m confused,” Jon cleared his throat. “You did want me to take your grandson in, didn’t you? You’re suspicious about my identity yet you’re willing to let him live with me?”</p><p>“You bear a striking resemblance to someone I once knew.” his grandmother’s gaze softened slightly, and Jon thought he knew what she was talking about.</p><p>“Your son, I take it?”</p><p>She nodded. “He passed when Jon was very young, and although I know you can’t be him... Well the similarities are remarkable.”</p><p>Jon took a deep breath, wondering just what he could tell her. He wasn’t sure she’d believe the truth, but he didn’t want to continue lying to his grandmother. “Do you believe in the supernatural?”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” She looked taken aback at that. </p><p>“The supernatural. Paranormal. Not quite magic but certainly out of the ordinary.”</p><p>“I don’t see what that has to-” She started to say but her words failed her as she stared at him. “What are you?”</p><p>From the faint pressure behind his eyes he guessed they’d started to glow. It had been a long time since that had happened. Had he caught the Beholding’s attention? “I worked at the Magnus Institute...” another breath. “It... It changed me.”</p><p>It made sense to start from the beginning. “My real name is Jonathan Sims, Blackwood was my partner’s name.” His grandmother inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, but she thankfully didn’t interrupt. “I came from another universe, from the year 2018, in an attempt to change the future.”</p><p>“The future?” Her voice was no longer as firm, and when he glanced up at her he saw her eyes were wide, taking in every scar and grey hair. “Are you... You’re my grandson?”</p><p>“Yes.” The word came out a bit strangled. “I am technically Jon, but I came to this timeline to prevent him from becoming me.”</p><p>Jon wasn’t sure what he’d expected his grandmother to do but it certainly wasn't to embrace him. “What happened to you?” She asked once they’d broken apart, cupping his face in one hand.</p><p>“It’s a long story.” He told her everything, well, almost everything. He thought it might be best to not inform her of the Entities, she was better off not knowing about the horrible things that fed off people’s fears. </p><p>Jon explained finding the Leitner as a child, how it had led him to start working for the Magnus Institute. His quest for answers and knowledge and how it had left him scarred in both mind and body, how he had been tricked into ending the world. When he explained his encounter with Jude Perry his grandmother took his hand in hers, running her fingers over the discolored skin. She didn’t interrupt him, but part of him wished she had. He felt like he’d let her down somehow, she’d raised him and he’d repaid her by becoming a monster.</p><p>“I can’t fix things in the timeline I left behind, but I can prevent them from happening here. I can at least make sure that my past self doesn’t have to go through what I did.”</p><p>“I see.” His grandmother’s voice sounded tired. “Is that why you want to take care of him?”</p><p>“It hadn’t been my original plan, no...” It felt strange to admit it. The goal was to go back to 2010, but something happened between worlds. My partner and I got separated and I was thrown into 1993.”</p><p>“Your partner?” </p><p>“Yes...” Jon wasn’t sure his grandmother would approve of his relationship with Martin, if she’d be disgusted he loved a man. “Martin Blackwood, he was one of the assistants I had and...” the next few words came out a whisper as he twisted the ring on his finger. “I miss him dearly.” </p><p>“I know what it’s like to lose a partner. The pain will never truly go away, but it does lessen a bit as time goes by.” His grandmother squeezed his injured hand and Jon wondered what it might have been like to truly have a relationship with her as an adult. After going off to uni he’d figured she wanted little to do with him, he called her for holidays and birthdays but now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d missed out on something.</p><p>“I have to hope he’ll come back, that he’s somehow just stuck in transit and...”</p><p>“You said this all started with a book I found at a charity shop?” It was as though his grandmother sensed his unease, deciding to change the subject. </p><p>“Yes, I’ve already found it in this timeline. I burned it about a year ago.”</p><p>“Good. The last thing I want is for you to suffer like that again.” Her lips were pursed, and Jon wondered what she was thinking. Did she feel guilty for having been indirectly responsible for everything that happened to him?</p><p>“I will do everything in my power to prevent that.” </p><p>“Jon?” His grandmother met his eyes, her gaze determined.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Take care of yourself... Both of yourselves.”</p><hr/><p>Gerry had just about had it. He was sick of Jon pestering him every day, sick of Mr. Blackwood not doing anything beyond a gentle scolding. It had been bad enough seeing the kid every few weeks, but now that they were living together it made him- No... He didn’t wish to go back to living with his mother, but he did long for some peace and quiet. </p><p>The two of them were out shopping, giving Gerry some time to himself. Jon needed new clothes because apparently the ones he had weren’t in great condition. Gerry understood why Mr. Blackwood had taken him in, the man wanted to help people, but he’d thought that only applied to those touched by the Entities. As far as Gerry could tell Jon was a normal eight-year old, the closest he’d gotten to any of the fears was Mr. Blackwood himself. </p><p>Flopping onto his bed Gerry threw a hand over his eyes, blocking out the light he’d forgotten to turn off. He’d been given the attic room, he hadn’t even had to ask for it. Somehow Mr. Blackwood had guessed that this room would be best for him, although Gerry suspected that the Beholding might have given him the info. Although the attic was a bit smaller than the other bedrooms it was separate from the rest of the house, it even had its own bathroom. Gerry felt like he had his own space for the first time in his life, he was free to hang posters or his drawings on the walls and play his own music, although he did try to keep the noise down when he knew other people were home.</p><p>It had been half a year since Mr. Blackwood had become his guardian, six whole months and yet he knew barely anything about the man. Gerry respected him, was grateful to him, but it felt like there was some kind of wall between them. He didn’t want anyone to get too close to him. Which was hard, because Gerry wished he had someone he could talk to without-</p><p>Bolting upright Gerry’s eyes fixed on the drawer of his nightstand. He crawled across the bed, grabbed the drawer’s handle and pulled it open so hard it fell on the floor. The page was still there, although he had no reason to assume it would go anywhere. He picked it up, the material feeling wrong in his hands. Skin. This was not paper he held. Still, he’d had it for months now, but it had never felt like the right time to use it. He took a shaking breath, unfolded it, and began to speak. </p><p>“When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing-” He recognized his mother’s handwriting, tried to focus on the individual words rather than what he was saying. Had he left the radio on? Was that why there was static? He continued to read, to spill the details of how his mother had murdered his father, and dimly registered that his cheeks were wet as he reached the last line. “And so Eric Delano ended.”</p><p>Taking a deep, shuddering breath Gerry lifted his eyes from the page and took in the hazy form of a man standing before him. He’d never seen a ghost before, despite all his interactions with the Entities and monsters. Still, if asked what he’d believed a ghost might look like this man would likely check all the boxes. His form was transparent and flickered slightly, like a telly with bad reception. Even so it was impossible to not know who this person was. Gerry had always known he didn’t look much like his mother, besides the hair color he shared none of her features, but this man looked like an older version of him. A lump caught in his throat.</p><p>“What am I doing here?” The man’s voice was distorted, wavering slightly. “Where’s Mary?”</p><p>“Jail.” Gerry wasn’t sure how he was able to speak. “She was arrested for murder.”</p><p>The man- Eric- blinked several times. “I’m surprised she got caught.”</p><p>Shaking his head Gerry struggled to find the words. “It’s... It’s complicated.”</p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p>“I’m...” Taking a deep breath Gerry braced himself for whatever might happen. “I’m her son, Gerard.”</p><p>Eric’s eyes widened, he raised a hazy hand to his lips. “Gerry? <em> My </em>Gerry? Are you my son?”</p><p>Nodding, Gerry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to finally meet you.”</p><p>Eric- No, his father- gave a small smile. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again. You were so small the last time I- How old are you?”</p><p>“Fourteen.” How long ago had his father died? Gerry couldn’t ever remember meeting him.</p><p>“Fourteen? God, I missed so much.” His father looked close to tears- could ghosts even cry? “Tell me everything, I want to know what your life’s been like.”</p><p>It was refreshing, in a way, to talk to Eric. To have someone who didn’t know what he’d been through, who listened without judgement. His father knew all too well what his mother was like, he also didn’t try to apologize or explain away her bad behavior. He did apologize for one thing though. </p><p>“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” His father sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to protect you from her, even with my condition.”</p><p>“Your condition?” </p><p>“I... You know I worked for the Magnus Institute, right?” Gerry nodded, confused by what his father could mean. “You can’t really quit working in the Archives once you start, the Beholding won’t let you. The only way to free yourself from the Eye is to...” He lifted a hand to his face, to his eyes, and Gerry understood.</p><p>“You blinded yourself?” It was strange, the man before him seemed to be fine, could see Gerry perfectly. Was it because his father was a spirit now? What was more, hadn’t Mr. Blackwood said he used to work for the Institute? From the few conversations they’d had Gerry had gotten the impression that he’d worked in the Archives as well. Yet Mr. Blackwood could see perfectly well, he’d even become an Avatar of the Eye. There was definitely something that Gerry hadn’t been told, he’d have to ask about it later.</p><p>“Yes.” Eric nodded sadly. “I needed to get out of there. I just <em> knew </em> somehow that if I would stay I’d die like all of Gertrude’s other assistants. I didn’t want to die, I needed to look after you, so I quit.” He sighed. “Little did I know that Mary would have no use for a newly-blind husband, so she made me useful again.”</p><p>The lump was back in Gerry’s throat. He didn’t need to ask what had happened, he’d read the gruesome details of what his mother had done, his tears were still wet on his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, I’m sorry. I think I knew, deep down, what she was capable of. I just thought she wouldn’t hurt me, I thought she loved me.”</p><p>“I’m not sure she’s capable of loving anyone.” Gerry’s throat hurt from holding back yet more tears. He hated his mother for what she’d done to him, and now he hated her for what she’d done to his father. He’d only wanted to protect his son, and she’d murdered him just because he wasn’t useful anymore. “She got what she deserved.”</p><p>“Perhaps.” His father coughed, looking awkward. “So where are you now? How did you get my page?” </p><p>Gerry recognized the attempt to change the subject. “Did you ever work with a ‘Jonathan Blackwood’?”</p><p>“Can’t say I recall the name.” Eric looked thoughtful. “Did he work at the Institute?” </p><p>“So he says. He’s an Avatar of the Beholding, claims to have worked there and suffered a lot because of whoever runs the place. He’s the one who took me in. Actually he did more than that...” Gerry trailed off, unsure if he should mention just what his mother had done to him. He’d left out parts of her abusive behavior, not because he didn’t want to tarnish his father’s memory of her, but more that he didn’t want to remember those times. </p><p>“He’s the one who got her arrested?” It was as though Eric had read his mind.</p><p>“Yeah. I went to him one day, after she’d got into one of her moods- he’d given me his address if I ever needed his help- and whatever he did to her convinced her to turn herself in.” It was as much of the truth as he was willing to share. The last thing Gerry wanted was for his father to be concerned about how dangerous Mr. Blackwood was.</p><p>“You trust him then?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do. He didn’t have to help me out, or take me in, but he did. He also got your page, because he thought we should have a chance to talk like this.” Gerry bit his lip, he’d almost forgotten that he was annoyed with Mr. Blackwood at the moment.</p><p>“I get the feeling there’s more you’re not telling me.” The look his father gave Gerry sent a shiver down his spine. </p><p>“He recently took in another kid- a relative- he really likes helping people I guess... It’s just...” Gerry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s eight.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“He’s just annoying. He didn’t like me when we first met, apparently Jon knew Mr. Blackwood longer than I did and he was jealous that I got to live with him.”</p><p>“They’re both named Jonathan?” His father had a pensive look on his face. </p><p>“Yeah. I said they were related.”</p><p>“Sorry, I just found it interesting. Too much time looking into weird stories I guess.”</p><p>“Considering that Jon was very upset that Mr. Blackwood <em> wasn’t </em>his dad, I doubt it’s that.” Gerry fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt. “I honestly wish the kid would go back to disliking me, it’d mean he’d leave me alone.”</p><p>“Tell me about Jon.”</p><p>“Why?” Gerry was irritated, why did everything have to be about Jon?</p><p>“I can’t help you if I don’t know the full story.”</p><p>“He’s eight, he likes books...” Gerry sighed and tried to remember what Mr. Blackwood had told him. “He lived with his grandmother before, and apparently he doesn’t have many friends which is why he’s become attached to me.”</p><p>“Gerry...” For the first time his father sounded a bit... Did he sound disappointed? </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“A lonely kid is trying to befriend you, and you’re just pushing him away?”</p><p>“He’s five years younger than I am! Look, you haven’t met him but he’s really annoying.” It felt important that his father understand just why he felt the way he did about Jon. </p><p>“Can you at least try to get along with him? It sounds like this Mr. Blackwood is the only person who cares about Jon. No wonder he was jealous of you.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because it never hurts to try.”</p><hr/><p>“What are you reading?” Jon glanced up from the book and turned to the door. Gerry stood there, which was more than a little unusual. Normally Jon had to seek the teen out if he wanted to talk, and most of the time the chats they had would be... Lacking. Gerry had never started a conversation before. </p><p>Unsure of how to respond Jon simply held up the book, which had a large turtle on the cover. It was good so far, different enough from the other books he’d read to keep his interest, but he was wary about telling the teen that. Jon had dealt with enough kids from school faking an interest in him for just long enough to learn how to tease him.</p><p>“Oh? Is that ‘The Colour of Magic’?” To Jon’s surprise Gerry actually looked interested. Jon nodded, still wary of saying too much. He got the impression that the teen didn’t like him, so he’d tried to stay away. If they were going to be living in the same house he didn’t want bad blood between them.</p><p>As if noticing Jon’s unease Gerry changed the subject. “Mr. Blackwood asked if we could go to the store for him. His leg’s acting up, otherwise he’d go himself.”</p><p>“You want me to come with you?” Jon hated how small his voice sounded to his own ears. Like a child.</p><p>“Yeah, more hands are better, right?” The way Gerry was acting made Jon wary. Was this just a setup to being told that the teen didn’t want him around?</p><p>“Alright...” Jon relented, if Mr. Blackwood really <em> had </em>asked them to go together then he didn’t want to disappoint. He slid off the bed and pulled on a jumper, not taking his eyes off the teen for a second. </p><p>Thankfully Mr. Blackwood was sitting in the kitchen as they left, nursing a cup of tea. He met Jon’s gaze and offered a weak smile, which was reassuring. “Be careful. Don’t buy more than you can carry.”</p><p>They hadn’t even made it to the store when Jon heard a familiar voice call out to him. Turning his head he felt his heart sink into his stomach and couldn’t help but hide behind Gerry’s long leather coat. Jon was no stranger to bullies. For one reason or another he seemed to attract them, and this teen was no different from the others who pushed him and stole his books. Apart from being older than he was by a good ten years, that was.</p><p>“Oh? Did you actually make a friend, Jon?” The bully’s voice was mirthful, his gaze amused as he took in Gerry’s appearance. “I guess losers have to stick together.”</p><p>Glancing up Jon saw that Gerry’s expression had hardened, his eyes cold. “Did you have a reason for bothering my brother, or are you just that bored?” Brother? Jon wasn’t sure what he was hearing. “I find it amusing that you’d go after a child for apparently not having friends, when it seems like you don’t either. Otherwise I doubt you’d have so little to do you’d resort to harassing someone so much younger than yourself.”</p><p>“What did you just say?” The bully’s face- Mark, Jon thought he was called- had reddened in anger. He took several steps closer so he could look down his nose at Gerry. </p><p>“I said you’re a pathetic man who has nothing better to do than to bully children too young to fight back. It’s quite telling of a person, that they would choose to pick on someone so much weaker than they are.” Gerry snorted. “Unless kids your own age would beat you up, that is.”</p><p>Rather than responding the bully lashed out, aiming a fist at Gerry’s face. Gerry simply tilted his head and avoided the punch before pushing Jon farther behind him. He sank into a crouch, coat billowing around him, and kicked the bully’s legs out from underneath him. Rising to his feet Gerry spat on the other teen’s face. “If you lay a finger on my brother I’ll make you wish you hadn’t been born.”</p><p>Turning to where Jon stood, mouth agape, Gerry dusted off his hands. “Right, we should get the shopping done before Mr. Blackwood starts to worry where we’ve been.”</p><hr/><p>A plush highland cow sat in the window of a toy store, its plastic eyes partially obscured by fur. It was rather adorable, if Jon had any say in it. It also reminded him of Martin. </p><p>Martin... God, Jon missed him. He missed Martin so much. It had been over two years since he’d arrived in this universe and there was still no sign that Martin would ever show up. It was hard to not lose hope with every passing day. </p><p>He was trying his best to be strong, to not simply give up and break down. If he gave up then who would take care of Gerry? Who would look after his past self? Yes, his grandmother was still around and could always take him back in, but it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. So he had to pull himself together, because nothing good would happen if he fell apart.</p><p>There was also the matter of finding Martin’s past self. The plan had been to prevent both of their counterparts in this timeline from ever working at the Magnus Institute. With Jon’s interference, primarily burning “A Guest for Mr. Spider,” it seemed like his own past self was unlikely to start working there. That just left Martin, and regardless of whether or not he did it alone he would save the man he loved from a horrid fate. </p><p>The Beholding was of absolutely no use, whether because Jon’s connection to it had continued to fray or because it just didn’t want to help him. He’d tried looking in a telephone directory but he didn’t actually know the name of Martin’s mother. He didn’t recall if he’d been told at some point, but trying to find someone without a name or location to go off of was a lot harder than he’d thought it would be. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d relied on Knowing things in the past. Well, that and the internet.</p><p>Still, no matter how many years it took he would find Martin’s past self in this universe. Jon would do everything in his power to help this Martin, if he even needed help. Maybe things were different in this timeline. Maybe his father hadn’t left, maybe his mother hadn’t gotten sick. Or maybe he was deluding himself.</p><p>The cow still looked out at him with those plastic eyes, and Jon couldn’t help but smile. His own past self didn’t have any stuffed animals, did he? Not yet, anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Content warnings for reference to murder, mentions of childhood neglect, mentions of child abuse.... I think that’s it. </p><p>I appreciate everyone’s patience while I wrote this chapter. Long story short for why it took so long: I was furloughed for seven months bc of everything and started going back to work in September. This meant I had less energy for everything and writing took the most focus/concentration of all my hobbies. I also made about eight pairs Jon and Martin plushies, bc sewing I can kinda zone out with. This chapter was also very involved... but it’s done!</p><p>Next chapter: Little Martin is found</p><p>Check out my <a href="https://artificialdaydreamer.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> to see what else I’ve worked on including plushies and cosplay! Thanks for reading! I’ll do my best to reply to comments but I apologize in advance if I do the texting thing of meaning to reply and forgetting until it’s too late.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>